


Run to Safety

by Fenix21



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drabble, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Series, Pre-Slash, hurt!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-28
Updated: 2016-04-28
Packaged: 2018-06-05 02:15:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6685186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fenix21/pseuds/Fenix21
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is hurt in a hunt. Sam comes to the rescue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, I feel like crap today, which means Dean gets to feel like crap today. This is a little bit of nothing I wrote and POSTED at work (God, it's such a slippery slope), and the title is way too big for what this is, but I couldn't come up with anything else, and there you go.

It was an hour before the pills really took effect, and they didn’t do anything but dull the pain enough that Dean could manage to bite his lip bloody instead of screaming with it. All the while Sam’s hand was in his hair, brushing, scratching blunt nails against his scalp, occasionally getting a little too rough or quick in his anxiety, but Sam would notice almost immediately and slow the rhythm down again. And Dean could breathe to that rhythm, he could focus on the hand constantly petting through his filthy, matted hair—something he would normally never tolerate—and the warmth of Sam’s thigh under his cheek, because he had tipped over in the seat at some point, too dizzy and sick and hot to stay upright. Sam was talking, constantly talking, but Dean couldn’t make out the words, not as collective sounds that meant anything. All he heard was the constant, lulling tone of his little brother’s voice, the smooth crooning—something else Dean would never normally tolerate—but it felt too good vibrating through Sam’s body and into Dean’s right now for him to balk about it. There were bits and pieces of things that sounded like poison and Jim and Blue Earth and Dean figured Sam must be talking himself through what he was going to do to clean up the mess Dean and Dad had gotten themselves into.

He could very vaguely recall hefting John, unconscious, on his shoulder for nearly half a mile before he collapsed with him across the backseat and managed to flip open his phone and call Sam, who had been studying back at the motel, and rasp out little more than his brother’s name as a plea for help. Sam knew where they were, or the general area at least, and it was less than twenty minutes before he showed up in a stolen, hotwired VW Rabbit and set to work trying every trick up their collective sleeves to slow the crawl of poison through Dean’s and John’s veins before it killed them. Dean’s t-shirt was still soaked through from the holy water and sticky with the salves Sam had cautiously smeared over the gashes in his back that helped take the fire out of the wound but did nothing for the razor sharp blackness creeping across his nerve endings and cutting off bits and pieces of him from himself one slow minute at a time. Sam had finally resorted to good old pharmaceuticals, and probably more of them than was strictly safe, to take the edge off of whatever was causing Dean to scream his bloody head off, and pushed him into the passenger seat and drove.

Dean moved his hand to Sam’s knee, squeezed, a lot harder than he intended to, but it was getting so hard to control any part of himself now. Sam’s fingers flexed against the back of his neck.

‘Almost there, Dean. Ten more minutes. Jim’s waiting.’

‘Dad…’ Dean managed to croak past his sticky, swollen throat.

Sam fell silent, and Dean could feel the twist of his body as he glanced over his shoulder into the back seat where John was still sprawled unconscious and, Dean hoped, breathing, at least barely.

‘Just…’ Sam paused, and Dean knew the kid was scared out of his mind and didn’t want to lie, but he didn’t want Dean freaking out either, though Dean didn’t have the strength or energy for either right now. ‘He’s breathing,’ was what Sam resorted to, just the truth of the immediate moment, because Sam wasn’t in the habit of making promises he couldn’t keep. That was something John did, too often, and was one of a growing list of things Sam was learning to hold against him. Dean, too. Because Dean had taken point from John and done the same thing when Sam was small, though he’d stopped it over the last year or so as he started to realize his own disillusionment with John’s fantasies of a normal life, or any life at all, after this. 

Sam resumed his stroking and Dean let himself be lulled by it, focused on the warmth and scratch of worn denim beneath his cheek and the fingers in his hair, and counted his own heartbeats in time to the rhythm of his little brother’s hand and the Impala’s tires racing over the road.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean woke up swathed in soft blankets, propped on his side by the long, bony, but very welcome warmth of Sam’s body pressed up against his front. Sam’s arm was looped around his waist, holding him up on his side, off of the wounds he could feel stitched and bandaged under a fresh, soft tee. His whole body ached, like he’d been shivering for hours, and in the blessed absence of the heat of the poison that had tried to scorch him from the inside out, he _was_ cold. He shifted forward toward the warmth of Sam’s skinny body, and felt Sam’s arm tighten a fraction. He mumbled something into Dean’s hair about resting easy and dad was okay and he was okay and Jim was watching over them, they were safe. Dean nodded, more of a burying of his face closer into the curve of Sam’s throat where he found himself tucked under Sam’s chin, and Sam’s arm wound carefully tighter and he moved one leg to slide between Dean’s knees and wrap around his calf.

‘Love you, Dean,’ Sam whispered thickly. ‘Love you.’

Dean sighed into Sam’s sweet, soft skin and let himself drift back into sleep.


End file.
